


Try and Remember

by Scorpiokagamine



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Color sight equals soul mate, M/M, soul mate confusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 22:07:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3357017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scorpiokagamine/pseuds/Scorpiokagamine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Colors bursts and skyrocket in Alfred's head, each one escalating and growing deeper in color until there's no name for them-except there is, and its Arthur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Try and Remember

**Author's Note:**

> Try and remember, what we had together

If you asked, Alfred would deny and deny and deny his feelings for Arthur. He'd swear up and down there was nothing there, but eventually, like all men under pressure (the "pressure" being all the women in America having periods for the rest of his life to be precise) he'd admit to it. But under no circumstances while he tell you how long he's had those feelings.

Good thing you're not asking him.

It started a long time ago, way beyond once upon a time. Back when the world wasn't exactly new and wasn't exactly good. But to Matthew and his younger twin Alfred, it was exciting place with a mixture of grays and blacks and whites. As babies they chased each other through the fields and tackled each other as they rolled down the slopes of mighty hilltops. They didn't care where they were-just as long as they were together. That was all that mattered to Alfred. Him and his big brother Matthew.

But one day, he got separated. A game of hide-and-seek where Matthew was the one hiding and Alfred was the one seeking. He was always bad at finding his brother; Matthew was too good at hiding in plain sight. He stood up ad squinted as he stared across the plain, trying to figure out where his brother might be. But to his childish eyes all the grays and blacks were getting mixed up and he couldn't figure out if the grass was still grass or if it was his brother-

And then a hand was placed on his arm. It was warm and heavy and soothing, huge on Alfred's small shoulder as it settles. The young child looked up to meet gray eyes that broke and exploded into a different color that he later learned was green and the gray face was blew up into a rosy red covered with hair that was set aflame by the fires of the sun's rays. Alfred had to blink a couple of times as white teeth flashed at him in a smile.

"Hello there," said a voice that was far more different than the soft voice Alfred's brother had. This voice resonated and ricocheted inside Alfred's head as it spoke. He stared into the strangers eyes as he introduced himself. "My name is Arthur. What's yours, lad?"

He stared for a second longer before responding. "A-Alfred," he said. His little hands reached for his long nightgown and bundled up the skirt in a fist. He hesitated before he asked, "Do you know where my brother-"

"Alfred, I was right here all along," Matthew's voice was exasperated and his face- pale cheeks and platinum blonde hair that fell onto soft blue eyes- was tired and frustrated. "I think there might be something wrong with your eyes." 

"Really?" Alfred asked, touching his face. There might've been. Older now, Alfred isn't sure if there really was something wrong with his eyes back then. Everything had just happened so fast.

"I think I might have something for that," said the stranger, whose hand was still on Alfred's shoulder. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out-glasses, Alfred's future glasses that were more precious to him than all the hamburgers in the world-and placed them on little Alfred's head. They were big, of course, but Alfred quickly pushed them up naturally with a finger as he blinked widely. He noticed another big person, with the same blonde hair that was as bright as the sun standing over his brother and him.

"I-I think I can see better," Alfred said sheepishly. Matthew smiled and wrapped his arms around his younger brother, cuddling him close as they both looked up at the bigger people. The one who had place his hand on Alfred-Arthur, he reminded himself-smiled at them. He places a hand on both their heads and rubbed them as he said,  "Wonderful."

He realizes then that he loves Arthur.

 

[]

 

When he's older, its a constant struggle to keep his ability to see in color a secret.

He learns from Francis that all countries, and all people, saw in black and white. Some people go their entire lives without seeing in color. But mostly, people eventually saw every color in the rainbow if they ever looked into the eyes of their soul mate.

Arthur had asked them. Once. A week had passed since they began to stay with the two older countries-Matthew preferred Arthur, but Alfred didn't mind either one. Arthur had asked them into his study and, once they sat down, he asked, "Do you boys know what the color of this desk is?"

Brown, Alfred wants to say, but Matthew says, "Black."

"And these flowers?"

"Gray."

"How about you, Alfred?" Arthur turns to him. Alfred jolts in his seat and blinks widely into the green gaze. "I-same. Its the same for me," he rushes out.

Arthur hums and sits back. He stares at the two for a longtime, gritting on Alfred's nerves-he was never the patient one. Finally, Arthur says, "Alfred, hand me the red rose," he points the vase holding the flowers they had picked yesterday. Alfred blinks for a moment before rising and standing next to the flowers. Hands shaking, he reaches and tries to make it look that he grabbed at random-which isn't that hard, since he isn't really sure what a rose looks like-before handing the flower to Arthur.

The older country sighs as he places it back into the vase. "Now you, Matthew," he asks. Matthew comes over and reaches-it must've been accidental, or maybe his brother knew what a rose looked like-for the only red flower in the bundle, a sparkling red rose. He grabs it purposefully and places it into Arthur's shocked hands.

"There, Arthur," Matthew says, before running off. Alfred lingers a moment to read Arthur's expression as he stares at the rose then at the direction Matthew went thoughtfully. He huffs silently then before turning on his heel to chase after his brother.

He didn't like the look on Arthur's face.

And he doesn't like how, after, Arthur spends all his time with Matthew. Sure, he was welcomed into their-and how he hates the word, _their_ \- presence whenever he wished. But he felt alienated, isolated as they went into their own separate world where Arthur read books aloud to Matthew. He could only bare the loving look Arthur gave his brother for so long before he'd run off on the excuse of being bored.

He truly loved listening to Arthur read aloud, but he wanted him to only read to Alfred, not Matthew or anyone else.  

So he spent all his time with other countries, picking up languages and art and culture from all of them. He learned how to cook from Feliciano when he wasn't being chased around by the other countries, learned how to earn the hearts of others from Francis and how to play music from Roderich and mass  production from Yi Yang and military strategy from Ludwig. He discovered the art of simplicity from Honda and perfected his dominance act with help from Ivan. Antonio was the one who told him the entire world's history from the beginning to the here and now.

All while his brother remained cuddled between Francis and Arthur.

Alfred tried to learn so many things. Tried to become something Arthur could approve of- but whatever he did, Matthew was always seen as the perfect one while Alfred was the juvenile. It wasn't Matthew's fault. It was never his fault. Even if it was, Alfred would still love his brother more than anything. It was just...Alfred had a hard time conveying his feelings to Arthur, who had always thought of him as only 'Little Alfie.'

For two hundred and eighty-three years he acts the part of the delinquent while Matthew is showered with affection. Its the only way Alfred knows he has some of Arthur's attentions, even if its bad.  He figured back then he'd have a fighting chance, but two hundred plus years of being a shadow...

It breaks him.

He gets Francis into it, too-which forces Matthew to join a side, and of course he joins his brother. Arthur does get the last laugh when Matthew still looks to him as his home, which stabs Alfred's already broken heart and smashes its pieces into smithereens.

But he couldn't deal with it anymore.

The secrecy, the lying; having to watch Arthur dote on Matthew for years and years endlessly has slowly turned Alfred's vision back to gray and whites. he asked Francis about that, and the older country told him if the feelings go unspoken the colors fade eventually and disappear back to black and white. Sometimes, entire vision is lost, and a person is blinded forever.

When he fights with Arthur-and wins- the last of the colors disappear, leaving behind only the memory of Arthur's sad green eyes and the rain that hid its crystal tear drops.

Alfred's world is back to its bleak, colorless one.

Oddly enough, Arthur can still see in color.

[]

 

The young country's heart is a ghost of its once warm and loving and open self.

Everyday for the next two hundred years is an act. Everyone saw a happy, go-lucky man who survived the industrial revolution and the World Wars and everything with a smile. They saw someone who laughed at everything and everyone and accepted every new idea that no one else would. They saw the false light that shone behind Alfred's shoulders and seemed to blind everyone with its intensity. They saw the promise of something great, something new, something exciting, and got lost in the madness.

They didn't see the mess he really was.

They didn't see that in the morning he groaned awake and blindly reached for the alarm clock that didn't exist in this house, but in Arthur's. No one saw that he often wandered the halls and got confused because he was imagining the floor plan for Arthur's home, and not his own. And no one noticed the sly looks he'd give the older nation at the world meetings, or that at night he cried silently over all that was and could've been if he'd just confessed back then or over a dream he had of Arthur loving him instead of Matthew, holding him instead of his brother.

Or he stared into the darkness, mind blank as he tried to forget everything.

None of it ever worked.

Nothing ever did.

Sometimes, Alfred had to blink rapidly because he notices that the world had turned just a little darker, and his vision was slowly closing in upon itself, growing dark and cold.

Going blind.

 

[]

 

Its when his vision is almost gone and he squints more often then he blinks that Arthur comes up to him and asks him a favor. "Uh, sure...?" he hesitates, wondering if he was asking Alfred help for planning how he's going to propose to Matthew.

"I need a place to stay." Arthur confesses.

"Huh?" it surprises Alfred enough that he stops chewing on the burger he always has in his hand.

Arthur sighs in frustration. "Things were getting a little rough back at home and now that there's some free time, my advisors advised I take some time off."

"Dude, I didn't know a country could get time off," Alfred turns to one of the humans at the world meeting. "Did you?" The human shakes visibly, obviously intimidated that the great country America is talking to him. He answers in a quiet voice. "Y-yes, s-sir, we-countries a-are allowed personal time off-f from their duties...uh..."

"Oh wow," Alfred says in astonishment. "Maybe I should take sometime off? Oh wait," Alfred starts to laugh heroically as he says, "Being a hero is 24/7 business, because crime never sleeps. And since I'm the hero of all heroes, where would anyone be if I wasn't around?" He shake his head amusingly, shrugging.

Arthur mumbles quietly behind him, "I'm sure we got along quite efficiently before you came along."

"Right, with all your holy ways and everything." Alfred agrees sarcastically.

Arthur glowers.

"Anyways, what kind of hero would I be if I said no? Sure, you can stay over at my place." Alfred tells him, offering a hand. Arthur looks down at it before looking back up at him, and damn if Alfred wished he still could see in colors so he could read the hidden emotion behind Arthur's eyes. "It'll be like old times,"" he says instead as Arthur takes his hand and shakes it.

"Quite," the older country agrees.

 

[]

 

"The guest bedroom is the second to last door on the right," Alfred says, pointing. Arthur listens half heartedly as he looks around the extravagant house. "No one's allowed in here except the cleaning service, not even the president." He reaches down to snatch Arthur's bag and carries it easily into the room. The Brit releases a sound of shock and chases after Alfred, protesting and demanding he be careful with his bag. Alfred sets it down gently on the far side of the room next to the window before turning to look at Arthur.

"What do you think?" He asks politely, not really caring. He never really liked this house anyway.

He can't really see Arthur's face, it disappeared in the edges of his waning vision. he squints slightly and lifts his chin to get a better look, but the older country's turned and moved toward the bed. He inspects the room for a few seconds before replying, "It'll do."

Alfred turns the words over in his head before shrugging. "Dinner should be soon. I won't be there tonight-doing heroic things, and all. You understand." He winks and the Brit rolls his eyes dramatically. "I'll call Matthew over to keep you company."

"That's not-" Arthur starts to say, but Alfred's rushing for the door and closing it before he can finish his sentence. He literally sprints down the hall, trying to rein in his control.

He almost threw the Brit on the bed right then.

But he didn't; and that's just fine. Alfred snatches the keys from the hook in the garage and drives off in one of his cars. He knows where he wants to go; knows the exact route, so he lets his mind wander as he drives. The streets of DC form a lighted bath for his, guiding him through its windy jungle carved out of rock and cement. Before he reaches the freeway,  however, he catches a couple holding hands and swinging them as they head home from a diner. They smile at each other, whispering something before kissing like fireworks had shot out in the sky and exploded thousands of fulfilling emotions in the single moment it goes 'boom.'

As he drives down the highway, Alfred leaves the top down so he can fill the wind in his hair.

God he hates the city.

So instead of stopping at some point, Alfred keeps driving to the one place no one ever really think's he'll be.

Minnesota.

To be more accurate, on the border between his brother's homeland and Minnesota. Out far beyond the reaches of society, where he could be alone. He had other places, other house-one in each state- that he could go to, but he likes being this close to his brother. And he likes Minnesota, because it reminded him of h-...back then.

Back when the world felt new, and it was only he and Matthew. Only them and gray sky and gray grass that touched a gray sun hoisted in a white cloudy mantle. Then it reminds him of Arthur; of the exact moment gray turned to green and white turned yellow and black met red on an open canvas. Of the colorful world he knew for one hundred and some years before it slowly faded to a sole, dull green before fading back to black and whites and then dissipating and rapidly turning darker and darker each day.

At least the stars were still white.

He looks up at them when he reaches the house; an exact replication of the house he lived in with Arthur and Matthew when they were kids. The house was only two bedroomed, though, because Alfred built it himself and didn't wanted to be taunted by the memories. No, he just wanted to be haunted by them, because they reminded him in a harsh sense that he was alone in the world, and would be always, and he was stuck in the here and now.

The first night he spent there he woke up and spent an entire month convinced he was a child again. he imagined the ghosts of past Arthur and past Matthew, before Arthur had called them into that study and cursed Alfred's life forever. Before the pain settled in his chest every time he looked at Arthur reading to Matthew and smiled at him. Before his heart broke. Before the colors started to fall away and be replaced by a inaudible silence.

He wonders what this time will bring.

Probably more ghosts.

Maybe some colors.

 

{]

 

He's not sure how long he stays there. Its spring, so the days only consist of sun and cloud and maybe a hint of rain. There's nothing to keep track of the days, no major event he needed to record to memory for the national library. Just him, and the horses he keeps in the stables. He loans them out whenever he's not at the house. Usually he calls three days in advance, but, thankfully, his favorite horse Joey has no one on reserve.

Joey was a Belgian draft horse, a gift from the Belgian government after WWII. They probably expected Alfred to kill him and eat him because Belgian draft horse meat was a delicacy to them, but...no. He kept Joey instead. The horse had a beautiful roan coat that looked like a cloudy day and thick body that, and he witness this one time, could easily knock down two trees when he tried to scratch his rump against one. And when he leaned on other horses they stumbled to the side under his massive weight and the whole scene would get Alfred cracking up because Joey would get this pitiful look on his face like, ' _why can't I lean on you?'_

Sure, Joey was big, and his hooves were at least as big as a human head, but he had personality, and that's what Alfred like about him. Joey was sweet with kids and nice to the older people, but when some idiot go the bright idea to get on his back and yell, 'Charge!' Joey took him for a ride. A wild bucking ride that rattled the person's teeth until they fell out and tossed him from one side to the other until they fell off.

The Joey'd snort and seemed to say, ' _That's it?'_ before clopping off on his merry way.

Alfred had to learn that the hard way.

But now he and Joey were best buds. Alfred could ride Joey without any saddle or reins-wouldn't fit him anyway-and not fear falling off or Joey acting up. In fact, that's all he did when he got back; jumped on Joey's back and rode off to the mountains and hilltops that were an echo of long ago.

He can think clearly, then. He can ignore the receding darkness in his vision as he gallops from one place to another. Reminds him of the old days. He snorts then as he thinks about Arthur riding on the back of a majestic black Belgian-Friesian, he means, cape flowing behind him as he rides off to battle. Those were the days when he thought the Brit was _his_ hero, and would ride to the ends of the earth to save him, if ever he was in danger.

But that's only if his name was Matthew and he carried around a teddy bear.

Pissed now, he rolls off the ground he gad been resting on and whistles. Joey comes trotting to his side and Alfred has to find a rock so he can climb on. He sets the horse off on a maddening pace, wanting his teeth to clatter and his head to roll on his shoulders to get the thoughts of Matthew and Arthur- _together_ \- under the sheets out of his head. It works after a minute or two, and lasts until he's wiped Joey down, eaten some food, showers, and rolled into one of the beds.

In the morning, he wakes to find one of his ghosts, a Brit named Arthur, sitting in the chair opposite to the bed. His hair is lit by the light of the gray sun. Alfred blinks once before closing his eyes and turning over in his bed. "Its too early for ghosts." He murmurs, wanting to go back to sleep again.

"Francis has...informed me of your...situation." Arthur says slowly, careful to pick and chose his words.

Alfred says nothing.

"He told me that you have...found your soul mate and saw color." Arthur's gaze turns down to the floor. His hands curl into fists on his thighs. "But you weren't able to tell such person your feelings, and now you're losing your sight.That's why I wanted to stay with you. To see if it was true."

Arthur pauses. "It is, isn't it? You're going blind."

Alfred opens his eyes and looks at Arthur, whose gaze meets his own. And at the exact moment the world explodes and erupts into color again, blasting the darkness away. Alfred blinks as the blonde hair form long ago is brought back anew, as ever bright as it was before. The rosy cheeks were paler now, and red lips were bitten down on by white teeth as Arthur fixed his worried eyes on him. Oddly, the green eyes were the last to return, clinging to gray before rocketing into the green of Alfred's memories.

"Would you..." Arthur says, then hesitates. He tries again. "Would you like to tell me...who this person is?"

Alfred blinks. "No," he says.

Arthur releases a sigh of frustration, then some sort of curse. "Go away," Alfred tells him, then smashes a pillow to his ears childishly so he can't hear the voice that ricochets in his head just like the green eyes echo into his own blue ones. A weight settles onto the bed and hands fight Alfred's over the pillow.

"Stop acting childish, Alfie," Arthur reprimands.

"Don't call me Alfie then," Alfred growls.

"I did not teach you to be-" Arthur starts, but suddenly Alfred stops and fixes him with his eyes, silencing him. he doesn't know what the Brit sees in the blue pools, but he reads the widening of the green emeralds and knows it can't be good. But he's angry, and he doesn't care.

"No, you didn't teach me that, did you?" he says. "You who taught me so many things..." Alfred murmurs as he sits up. Arthur remains where he is, but he leans back, afraid of the looming presence that was Alfred. The pillow is forgotten as Alfred lifts up his hands, "But you forgot to teach me  this one word." His hands cup Arthur's cheeks before he breathes the word. He lets it feathery touch float to and fro as it settles daintily on the warm surface of Arthur's lips before leaning forwards-

-" _Love,_ "-

Alfred whispers,

before crashing his lips to Arthur's, chasing the word into a world he only ever imagined.   

 

 

[}

 

Arthur had taught him everything. When he was a child Arthur taught him that the _right_ shoe goes on the _right_ foot, and _not_ on the _left_. To this day Alfred had to murmur this to himself in the morning, and he still gets it wrong.

When he was older he could remember Arthur telling him that a future country, nonetheless a future British country, needed to look presentable. He could remember every lesson the Birt had taught him.

But what he remembered most was the hot summer sun that turned Arthur's hair blonde; the mist of his homeland that turned his eyes as deep a green as the hilltops the mist touched gently. He can remember the blue of the older country's lips when he stepped outside during the winter-that told Alfred that it wasn't safe outside, because if Arthur, whose homeland consisted of almost no sun and only hazy cold gray days, was reduced to a shaking wet mess because of the weather, Alfred wouldn't last a second.

He could also remember most, more than anything, the warm fire and cozy blankets they'd throw over themselves and cuddle together under. The silent companionship, the rare moment when it was only he and Arthur and they weren't fighting, then it was Arthur and him and Matthew, the older brother Arthur _adored-_

Alfred did not want to think about his brother right now.

He had more pressing matters to think about.

He wants to think about Arthur. Wants to think about how the Brit's face held all the colors of a summer day and everything bright in between.  Wants to remember the noise of surprise he made when their hot lips met, and the wet press of Alfred's tongue to smooth lips. He _wants_ , he _wants_ , he _wants_ -

No, he _needs_ to-

Etch the feel of naked skin pressing into his own,

matching and rivaling Alfred's fire like no one else ever could.

He wanted to remember forever the pressing weight on his chest that grounds him in the moment. His ears try to record to memory the barely uttered groan Arthur releases from his tightly closed lips once he's fully inside of Alfred;  a sound that told of the joy they felt at finally joining after years and years and years of fighting and clashing their wills together and Alfred's running.  

The sound brought Alfred more joy than any burger could. His eyes desperately sink into Arthur's as his body is rattled with every thrust and his wrists are shackled down to the bed by the Brit's wrists.

He leans down to kiss Alfred again passionately, their eyes open and on each other. Alfred knows then that Arthur knows it was all an act of Alfred's. That he pretended to be this hero because he wants attention; specifically, Arthurs. But he doesn't know that last part, and Alfred hopes he never will even though he desperately wishes it. The older county only knows that in front of Arthur, Alfred has only ever been himself. There was no one else that knew these sides to Alfred, and none ever will, because Alfred has always thought that that part of him was well and truly only-

Arthur's.

When green pools are blown away by a black explosion, Alfred knows Arthur has realized this.

He clings to him then, arms wrapping around a lithe body and he whimpers, begging and pleading silently for more. Arthur merely stops for one second before pounding into Alfred with intensity and fervor he's sure no one else has ever felt.

 Colors bursts and skyrocket in Alfred's head, each one escalating and growing deeper in color until there's no name for them-except there is, and its-

 _"Arthur."_ Alfred screams as he cums. Arthur follows a second later, their gaze matching, Arthur pouring every color that had erupted in his mind and Alfred pouring the same into his.

"Alfred," he murmurs, before falling onto his chest.

 

{} 

 

 When he wakes in the morning, he finds a red rose-freshly picked from a garden- poised elegantly in a vase. He chuckles, smiling as he reaches out and press it to his lips.

 "You're a little late with that," he tells him. "About four hundred years, or so."

Blue eyes laugh along with green ones. A hand gently grasps another hand in a loving squeeze.

"Or I'm four hundred years too early. At least I still remembered."

A laugh ricochets throughout the room. The sound feels so right ad so good- "God, I love you," Alfred blurts, then covers his mouth in shock and shame. He looks over sheepishly at Arthur whose smiling brightly and his green eyes are dancing. "I love you, too," he says, leaning over to place a kiss on the younger nation's nose.

"Try and remember that, Alfred."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 -End.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the abrupt ending, or the really bad writing, or the horrible misspells and grammar, or the random crap-I just wrote it today and I wanted to celebrate valentine's day with this couple, and...yeah...its really bad...*sinks to floor*
> 
> Maybe I'll fix it up another day, but I'm tried, and my neck hurts, so...HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!


End file.
